Snowflakes in his Hair
by IceQueenRia
Summary: You hold him in your arms, not caring that the snowflakes in his hair feel cold as they melt against your ear. In that moment, you're determined to hold him forever more if that's what he needs from you. Rated T just in case. One-shot.


**Disclaimer-I do not own Glee**

**Summary: You hold him in your arms, not caring that the snowflakes in his hair feel cold as they melt against your ear. In that moment, you're determined to hold him forever more if that's what he needs from you. Rated T just in case. One-shot.**

**The poem spread throughout the fic in _italics _is a piece written by me.**

**Snowflakes in his Hair**

_**He walks down the icy roads**_

_**Heading who knows where**_

_**With a scarf around his neck**_

_**And snowflakes in his hair**_

You hear the ticking of the old clock on the mantelpiece and the noise irritates you. When the television was on, you hadn't been able to hear it so it didn't bother you. But with the T.V off and no other form of background noise, the sound of the old clock is all you can hear. Tick-tock, tick-tock, you so hate the sound of that blasted clock.

Glaring at the timepiece, you consider a number of different ways to destroy it. Ever since you were a child, you've had a certain talent for causing havoc and destruction. You've wrecked a teacher's car or two, set things on fire, caused a minor explosion in Chemistry class one time that people still blame Finn for rather than you. Back when you were younger, you had quite the reputation for damaging other children's possessions. You also ripped the heads off nearly all of your little sister's dolls and pulled the stuffing out of her teddy-bears. Even some of your mother's jewellery was broken apart in your bare hands. So yes, you could so easily smash that stupid clock to pieces.

But you don't. In the past year or two, you've calmed down a lot. Not many people acknowledge that fact, but you know yourself that it's true. You take deep breaths and reign in the anger that has so often led to you doing stupid things in the past. It isn't even the noise of the clock that you hate. It's what it represents that you can't stand. Time. That incessant ticking sound acts as an audible reminder of how fast time has gone this year and how little you've accomplished.

It's already December, the year has nearly reached an end and you feel you have nothing to show for it. You have to get out of the house, take a walk; the fresh air will make you feel better. If you remain inside listening to that ticking sound play over your own thoughts for much longer you'll go insane.

Stepping out the front door, you immediately feel the chill of the winter air. It bites against your skin and freezes through to your bones. Wrapping your scarf tighter around your neck and tucking your hands in your pockets, you bow your head against the ferocious wind and walk down the block. You don't know where you're planning to go. Truth is, you don't even care. You just need to get away for a while. You're not even sure what you need to get away from, but walking around aimlessly and shivering your ass off seems like the right course of action. It doesn't matter how slippery the icy pavements are or how many snowflakes settled into your hair. You're a badass; you can handle a bit of winter weather.

_**The winter weather suits him**_

_**He's all gloom and despair**_

_**With a string of tinsel for a belt**_

_**And snowflakes in his hair**_

You're not sure how long you've been walking for, but you come across a familiar figure. You see him walking not too far away, clearly lost in his own world for he hasn't spotted you yet even though you've come to a stand still to watch him, to wait for him to get closer.

As you watch him move, you decide that the winter weather really suits him. His porcelain skin stands out even as snow falls from up above. In a way, you think he's kind of beautiful. Not in the conventional sense perhaps, whatever the hell that means, but there's something about him. Maybe it's the way he moves. While others stagger clumsily through the snow and struggle against the wind, he seems to glide along.

He gets closer, and by now you can tell that he has noticed you. His eyes meet yours and they shine with surprise. For a moment, it looks as though he might turn his back on you and run away, but he stays. You know you ought to be surprised by your own relief that he's opted to stay rather than flee, but you suppose you're just too cold to consider things too carefully.

Your attention is drawn to his lips. In the cold weather, they look a delightful cherry red. It should worry or at the very least confuse you that you're so interested in how they might taste, but as you've already told yourself, it's simply too cold to consider things too carefully. His eyes are brighter than usual, the blue-green-grey orbs sparkling with tears. It makes your heart ache in sympathy, but you can't help but admire the sight. Even though the ivory-skinned boy is near tears, looking as though his heart is breaking and his world is crumbling, there's still something about him you find beautiful. It almost sickens you to think it, but you know you wouldn't find him so stunning if a look of pained heartache _wasn't _burning in his eyes.

He comes to a stop in front of you, so close you can see his breath rising as mist and a single tear-drop glistening in the corner of his eye, looking like a crystal. His coat is open and around his waist you see he has fastened a string of silver tinsel through the loops on his white skinny-jeans, wearing the Christmas decoration as a belt. Much like yourself, the slender male also has snowflakes in his hair.

_**So chillingly beautiful**_

_**A broken angel hope can't repair**_

_**With bruised and battered wings**_

_**And snowflakes in his hair**_

Words are not exchanged. You simply stand with him in silence, holding one another's gaze. His jeans are white, his shirt silver and his open coat a powder blue to match his boots. As he stands before you, his posture demonstrating strength and acting as an intriguing contrast to the weakness that swims in his pretty eyes, you think he looks like an ice-sculpture. Reaching your hand out, you brush your knuckles against his cheek, unable to ignore how your toffee coloured skin differs from that of his smooth china flesh.

He ducks his eyes, breaking eye-contact with you and pulling away from your touch. It shouldn't hurt your feelings, but it does. It also scares you. As he takes a step back, he lifts his head back up and you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes. The look intensifies that lick of fear you felt, for he looks terrified. With all he's been through, losing a mother so young, coming to terms with his sexuality and constantly dealing with bullies, you know it must take something truly harrowing to place such a horrified look in the eyes of somebody who has been so strong and so brave.

He looks vulnerable, as if he could quiver and break at the contact of another touch. No, he looks broken already you realise. As damaged and helpless as he seems, he still looks beautiful, like an angel you decide. A broken angel, but an angel nonetheless. You want to comfort him, help him, heal him, but you're not sure if you can. Repairing things has never been your talent. No, you've always been the one to ruin and destroy.

_**A halo of sorrow surrounds him**_

_**As he breathes in the cold night air**_

_**With a tragic memory in every tear**_

_**And snowflakes in his hair**_

You want to say something, anything that might make him feel better. Nothing enters your mind. What could you possibly say? You don't even know what's happened to the delicate looking boy, you only sense that it's something truly terrible but you don't actually know. Your mind drifts to that boyfriend of his and you wonder if he's responsible. Or maybe it's a family thing. It could be something Finn related. Finn has his moments when he does the right thing, but he says and does the wrong things a lot more often.

Whatever it is, you can see that it's killing him inside. A general feeling of intense sorrow is all around him. As he breathes in and out, shallow breaths from the crying, it feels like he's sharing his sorrow with you. It's polluting your lungs, infecting your veins and arteries, making you choke as you get just the smallest of tastes of the other boy's anguish. Tears are slipping from his eyes like glimmering raindrops and you know there must be a tragic pain-filled memory in every tear.

Not knowing what else to do, you open your arms, inviting him into a hug. You expect him to shy away, decline the offer, but he accepts. He steps up against you, body to body, and locks his hands around your back. He clutches to you, desperately, as if you alone are keeping him from falling apart. You hug back, it's the only thing you can do. You hold him in your arms, not caring that the snowflakes in his hair feel cold as they melt against your ear. In that moment, you're determined to hold him forever more if that's what he needs from you.

_**Together you walk along**_

_**Hoping to find joy, love and care**_

_**With heartache beating in your chests**_

_**And snowflakes in your hair**_

He steps out of the hug but not away from you completely. He keeps one arm around your waist and you move yours so it's settled snugly round his slim shoulders. Together, you start walking. You let him lead the way. It doesn't take long for you to realise the direction in which you are heading. Just one more block and round the corner and you'll be arriving at the Hummel-Hudson household. You won't admit it, but you're a little bit nervous. Mr. Hummel is a cool dude, you really respect the guy and he's always said 'hey, kid' to you whenever you've gone over to thrash Finn on his computer games. But you've never stood in a room with Mr. Hummel while having one arm around his beloved son before and you're not sure how he might react to that. You just hope that Carole will be home, she likes you enough to make sure you don't get murdered.

As you get closer to the Hummel-Hudson household, you realise that the boy walking with you is crying even harder. Your heart clenches at the sound and the sight.

"Kurt." You whisper his name and he looks to you, but you're not sure what else to say. "It'll be ok," you decide to tell him lightly brushing away a tear as you stop in the street. "I'm gonna take care of you." You promise.

"Thank you." He replies and he's looking at you like you're some kind of hero, like you've saved him somehow. "Thank you." He repeats and then his lips are pressing against yours.

It's only a little peck, an innocent kiss, not too dissimilar to how you used to kiss your Nana when you were a kid. Yet somehow, that simple peck on the lips means more to you than any hot make-out session ever did. Your mind briefly wonders about the boyfriend, about Blaine. You wonder if the kiss you two just shared qualifies as cheating or not. Then you wonder if he and Blaine are even still together. You don't ask him though, now isn't the time. It doesn't really matter anyway you think as he takes your hand and continues the walk to his house. You made a promise to take care of him and you're going to do it.

Reaching the Hummel-Hudson house, you both stop on the doorstep. His tears have stopped but there's still a pain in his eyes, though it's not as intense as it was when he first stopped in front of you. You can see that his heart is still aching inside his chest, and your own heart is aching for him, but you manage to smile. He smiles back and squeezes your hand before kissing you once more, just another gentle press of his lips against yours.

Together you enter the house, lips still tingling, fingers laced together and snowflakes in your hair.

**Thank you for reading**

**Please Review**

**Love and Hugs, IceQueenRia xxx**


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